


Feather-Light

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M, Porn, Whump, oversensitised cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>post-s8 drabbles with a fallen!cas whose skin is extremely sensitive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You okay there, Cas?”

Castiel nods, but he’s wide-eyed; he swallows, hard. His hands tense and relax against Dean’s shoulders, and Dean pulls away from kissing him; looks at him, levelly.

“Cas?” he tries, careful – Castiel looks down.

“It’s –“ he presses his lips into a thin line. “It’s – different. To how it was.”

Dean laughs softly. “Well – yeah. It’s been a while.” He smiles, but Castiel still looks utterly lost.

“It’s a lot –  _stronger.”_ He murmurs, almost ashamedly, and Dean nods, smoothing out Castiel’s borrowed shirt against his chest.

“Well. Okay.” He shrugs, and when he leans in again, he’s gentler. “We’ll go slow.”


	2. Chapter 2

They work up to it; Castiel is fever-hot all over, and everything itches him; he can’t stand the weight of bedclothes on his skin, is sensitive to warmth, to cold, to water; he hisses so loud when he first steps onto the wooden floors bare-footed that Dean thinks he’s stood on a loose nail, before Castiel explains.

They touch each other like they used to, when this thing between them first began, all those years ago; when Dean was still scared. Dean brushes his hand carefully when he’s close enough; no full-limbed touches, no tight embrace.

The first time Castiel lays out on Dean’s bed; utterly naked, trembling just from Dean’s _proximity –_ it’s with wary hands that Dean reaches for him. At first he just sits next to him, unsure of where to touch, of his own nakedness; somehow Castiel’s increased sensitivity makes  _him_ feel vulnerable; the knowledge that wherever he touches, wherever he  _looks,_ Castiel will react.  

“Okay.” He says, mostly to himself, and Castiel smiles at him, reassuring; reaches for his hand. They can do that, at least; Castiel’s fingers wind loosely around his wrist, and he pulls him down.

“Just-“ his breath hitches. He reaches – gestures for Dean to dip his head down, so they’re face to face. He catches Dean’s mouth with his own – quickly. “Just – this” he says, and Dean gets it, he thinks.

They can kiss, like this; Dean braced above him, their bodies not touching. The only connection now is between their mouths, and Dean doesn’t even open his mouth, doesn’t deepen it; just presses his lips to Castiel’s, over and over, lush, soft presses of his mouth to Cas’. Even like this, Castiel moans into it; opens his mouth a little wider, gets a little sloppy, clenches his hands against the sheets. He can’t touch Dean, because it would be too much – but he wants to, and shifts his feet against the bedclothes, breathes a little sigh into Dean’s kiss.

“Okay.” He says, and shifts again. Dean can feel the heat of him; somehow every part of Castiel’s body is  _warm,_ even without his grace; he runs hot, erring just a little on the side of more-than-human, and Dean’s surprised, always, to find how much he likes it. “You can –“ he breathes in, shakily, steeling himself.

Dean bends to kiss him again; wary, flush little brush of his mouth. “You sure?”

“Mm.” he murmurs, and Dean nods, and kisses the bolt of his jaw.

The reaction is immediate; Castiel holds himself back but Dean can  _feel_ the way he changes, the way his whole body starts to  _thrum._ Kissing his mouth is something he’s used to, something they’ve  _practised,_ but this – Dean pauses, waits for Castiel to urge him on, then opens his mouth against Castiel’s neck – is a whole other ballpark, entirely. Castiel’s breaths start to quiver.

“Dean-“ he murmurs, above Dean’s head. Dean pauses, lips scant inches from his skin.

“You want me to stop?”

“no – no, just-“ he  _trembles._ It’s weird, seeing him like this, when Dean’s seen him eviscerate monsters without a pause. “Keep going.” He breathes, and Dean laughs gently.

He works his way down; soft, hesitant kisses on his shoulders, his collarbone. He mouths at the underside of Cas’ arms, works his way down to his wrists; gently pecks at each of his fingers, in turn; and all the while Castiel is  _writhing_ with it, twisting his body beneath Dean’s, huffing desperately into the air between them.

Dean kisses his way back up his arm; works his way down his chest, just skirting his nipple with his mouth; the whole of him is flushing pink, a slow blush working its way down from his neck, from his ears, but this part of him especially, little nubs of flesh peaked, _straining,_ and saliva floods Dean’s mouth at how he can make him  _react,_ just by doing this.“You alright?” he checks, carefully, when Castiel  _keens_ at the brush of Dean’s mouth against his navel. He’s hard, fully hard, slick beneath Dean’s mouth, the heat of him palpable, inches from Dean being able to taste.

“Fine.” His breath betrays him. “Fine, Dean,” Dean opens his mouth, just below his belly-button, and tries a brush of tongue; gets,  _“Dean!”_ in response, and smiles softly. “ _Dean.”_ Castiel mutters, breathless but still irritable, embarrassed by how much Dean enjoys it.

Dean purposely evades his straining cock, the pre-come puddled on his stomach, how it’s flushed red, almost  _pretty_ against the bed of dark hair between Castiel’s legs. Instead, he skirts the bone of his hip with his mouth, barely touching; he works his way down one of Castiel’s thighs, kisses to his, draws a barely-held  _gasp_ from Castiel when he licks at the skin behind the joint. Castiel’s hands are gripping the bedsheets hard, now – hard enough to rip, and still he holds the sound inside him; lets loose only the barest whine when Dean goes back up; noses at his inner thigh.

Castiel’s half-chanting, half-grunting his name; his toes  _literally_ curl, and Dean laughs from the joy of it; being able to do this. Being – to hell with pretending otherwise – so in love.

“Don’t-“ Castiel chokes from above him. “Don’t make fun of me.” He murmurs prissily, and Dean snorts, again.

“M’not.” He says, and lifts his head; purposefully kisses around Castiel’s bare cock, never actually touching it, skin to skin; it’s warm against the side of his face. “You’re just –“ he looks up, at Castiel’s face, and sees how wrecked he is, how barely contained; his hands, fisted against the mattress, are white-knuckled. They make eye contact only briefly – Castiel lifting his head to look down at him, Dean tilting his head up – before Dean breathes softly against the tender skin between Castiel’s legs, and he  _arches_ back, chest pushed out, nose pointed towards the ceiling. “You want-“

“Dean, for god’s  _sake-“_ Castiel’s voice is thin as he tries to hold it in check. Dean laughs again – he can’t help it – and just  _breathes_ against the base of Castiel’s straining cock; works his way up, slow, as Castiel’s breaths get faster and faster, more and more desperate; the muscles of his stomach tense, and shake.

Dean can feel it before it happens; the tipping point, Castiel murmuring nonsense to the ceiling, mixed a little with “Dean,  _please_ get on with it” and he knows it, the power he wields, here; how he can make Castiel feel.

He kisses him. Just that; a gentle press of his lips, brushed just below the crown of Castiel’s cock.

It’s enough.

 Castiel almost bruises him, almost hits him with his knees, his legs curl up so fast; his mouth opens, wide and he  _yells_ at  the ceiling as he judders,  _gasping,_ and spills, and tenses, and spills, all over his own stomach, eyes squeezed shut. He mumbles half-syllables of Dean’s name but he can barely make it out, and all Dean can do is watch; awed, totally fucking enraptured by the sight of Castiel entirely falling to pieces before his eyes.

He’s still breathing so hard, still trembling, when Dean crawls up to kiss his brow. “You okay?” he asks again, possibly just for the sake of asking. Castiel’s laughter rumbles out of him as if tugged.

“I’m –  _definitely_ fine, Dean.” He says, like Dean is the one who’s  _silly,_ when Castiel was shuddering from  _kisses_ not moments before. Dean rolls his eyes, and carefully kisses him again, this time on his cheek.

“This is actually kinda cool.” He murmurs thoughtlessly. “Don’t even need to put the effort in to get you off.”

Castiel grunts irritably; can’t touch him to shove him away, even playfully, so he rolls onto his side, instead. “Shut up, Dean.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean finds him curled at the foot of the shower, hands gripping the tile. His eyes squeezed shut, brow furrowed.

“Cas?” Dean asks him, bewildered. Castiel doesn’t turn to face him.

“I’m alright, Dean. Go away.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He says obstinately, and when he finally opens his eyes, head dipped so low his chin is almost touching his chest, he looks  _furious._ “Leave me.” He says, and Dean swallows – makes as if to move forward, but Castiel’s eyes keep him at bay.

He leaves without another word; shuts the bathroom door behind him; but moments later he hears the shower turn on; heard Castiel’s bitten-back yell of anguish, and doesn’t know if it’s the water, the pressure, the temperature; if it’s just how Castiel  _feels,_ trapped inside himself, taken over, overridden by  _sensation._

He makes sure to make himself scarce before he comes out; but stays for a while beforehand, listening to Castiel’s pained sobs echoing around the bathroom. He winces at every sound. 


End file.
